


First Name Basis

by hollowbirds (torturousthings)



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Bandom - Freeform, M/M, Ryden, it's late and brendon is done with everyhting, mikey being sneaky af, petekey, pink haired pete, ryan is done with pete, smoothie shop au, until two idiots stumble in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torturousthings/pseuds/hollowbirds
Summary: brendon doesn't hate late night shifts just as much as he thinks he does.





	

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to kimberley for editing my fic for me because i was having a crisis about ryan never getting in the car wow i love kimberley so much

The door slammed and Brendon jerked awake from the semi-sleep he’d let himself drift into. It was his last shift of the week, a painful 9pm-to-midnight that he had to take in order to finally buy that amp he’d been wanting since forever. It was okay most days, though, because no one wanted a smoothie after dinner time, contrary to what Mr. Way seemed to think. 

Mr. Way was Brendon’s boss, and despite the ridiculous working hours that he’d imposed, Brendon had to admit he was a pretty cool guy; the employees working after nine didn’t have to wear their uniforms, just their name tag and the shop’s cap, which, in Brendon’s case, was laying abandoned on the counter. It was a disgusting combination of orange and green, and everyone was getting strongly suspicious that Mr. Way might in fact be colourblind. It was a wonder that the shop still had customers with this colour scheme. 

“Good evening, what can I get you?” Brendon muttered automatically, one hand reaching for the horrid cap and placing it backwards on his head; he won’t be lying to Way when he’ll tell him he did wear his cap tomorrow. He looked up at the two people who had just entered the shop and then glanced at the clock. Quarter to twelve. These fuckers must’ve seen that the shop closed at midnight and thought they’d get a good laugh at him.  

 

“I’ll have a, uh, Banana Goodness?” said the shortest of the pair, squinting at the menu board and handing Brendon a bill. He had short, bright pink hair that was flat on one side and stuck out on the other, as if he’d been sleeping against a car window. His arms were inked with patterns that Brendon’s tired eyes couldn’t exactly work out, and he was wearing a black hoodie and baggy jeans that hung low on his hips. After nodding at the first guy, Brendon turned his gaze to the taller one, who shook his head with a small smile. 

 

“Nothing for me, thanks.” 

 

Brendon smiled back and took the $5 bill, then turned to make the first guy’s order. Maybe they weren’t there to mock him after all.

 

“Dude, I know this song!” said the voice of the pink-haired guy, “It’s fucking _dope_ , dude!” He sounded overly energetic all of a sudden, and Brendon felt sorry for the other guy for a split second. God knows what had happened for them to end up in a smoothie shop in Las Vegas at 11:45 on a Friday night. 

 

“Pete,” said the tall guy as Pete started singing along loudly to the Killers song that was playing in the shop. 

 

“Pete!” he repeated, slightly louder this time, to try to cover his friend’s scream-singing. Brendon couldn’t help but smile as he put the bananas in the mixer. Céline Dion usually played in the shop —Mr. Way seemed to be an avid Dion fan, for God-knows what reason— but Brendon reckoned that no one would call him out on playing some of his own music this late, so that’s what he usually did. 

 

“What?” Pete was standing on a chair, looking down on the other guy for probably the first time in his life.  “Christ, Ryan, live a little!” he said, then proceeded to go back to his singing, this time punctuated by wide gestures that made him look like he was trying to catch flies. 

 

Ryan rolled his eyes, took off his leather jacket and walked away from Pete, who now looked dangerously wobbly on his chair. Brendon set the drink on the the counter and cleared his throat. 

 

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t stand on chairs,” he said. “Or on tables, for that matter,” he added as Pete made a movement to do just that. Ryan made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Besides, your drink’s ready.” 

 

Pete jumped off the chair a lot less gracefully than Brendon thought he intended to and strode towards the counter. Grabbing the drink, he narrowed his eyes at Brendon.

 

“Brendon, huh?” He said, and Brendon realised he’d been reading his name tag. He nodded. Pete leaned casually against the counter, sipping his smoothie as if it was a martini. “Well, Brendon, maybe you should go on a lunch date with Ryan here” —he pointed at his friend that was sitting at a table and getting a dark shade of pink—“‘Cause you’re both uptight as f—”

 

Brendon’s phone rang, interrupting Pete’s suggestion. Pete looked down at the phone in distaste, then looked at Brendon, who dismissed the call. No private phone calls during shifts, Mr Way always said. This was an unknown number anyway. Brendon set his phone down and looked back at Pete, forcing a small smile. The pink-haired boy seemed to think that was his cue to start his sentence again. 

 

“As I was saying—”

 

This time, it was the shop phone that rang. Pete swore and Brendon glanced at Ryan, who was pretending to stare out the window. One main rule was to always, _always_ pick up the shop phone. Another rule was also to not interrupt the client at any cost, but this seemed not to apply after 11pm anymore, so Pete went back to sipping his smoothie with a disgruntled look. Brendon walked to pick up the phone. 

 

“Hello, Tropical Smoothies, what can I do for you?” 

 

“Urie!” said a hushed voice on the other end, and Brendon frowned. 

 

“I’m sorry, do I—” 

 

“It’s Mr Way,” he said, “Do _not_ say my name out loud,” he added, almost hissing, when Brendon started greeting him. Why the hell was his boss calling at ten to midnight? 

 

“Okay, sir,” Brendon said, glancing at Pete who was finishing his smoothie noisily. 

 

“Why didn't you pick up your phone?” His boss said, his voice uneven as if he was playing hide-and-seek and trying to find a good hiding spot. Brendon was even more confused now. 

 

“Well, you are the one who always says that we shouldn’t—” Brendon started, but was interrupted by his boss, once again.

 

“Never mind that. Is there a pink-haired dude in the shop right now? With a tall guy?” Brendon turned away from said pink-haired dude and tried not to laugh. He’d never heard Mr Way say “dude” before. He hadn’t even been sure that Mr Way _knew_ the word dude, but then again he was probably younger than Brendon thought. 

 

“Yeah, how do you know that?”

 

Mr Way made an annoyed noise that meant he didn’t want to answer, and Brendon thought he saw someone dash behind a bush through the window of the shop. God, it was too late for this kind of stuff.

 

“From now on, you don’t know me, alright?” Mr Way said. “That means that if, _if_ I happened to walk into the shop right now, you treat me just like any other customer, not like your boss.”

Brendon nodded, though Mr Way couldn’t see. 

 

“Good,” Mr Way said, even though he’d supposedly gotten no reply from his employee. “I’ll make you EOTM or some bullshit like that.” 

 

“EOTM?” Brendon repeated, getting more confused by the second. Was this some spying game? 

 

“Employee of the Month,” Mr Way said wearily, and Brendon could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. 

 

“Okay,” Brendon said, suddenly excited. Surely this Employee of the Month thing would mean that he’s a bunch of shifts closer to buying that amp of his. 

 

“Alright. Good evening, Urie.” Mr Way hung up without waiting for Brendon’s reply. Setting down the phone, Brendon saw that Pete had gone back to the table his friend was sitting at, and had left the empty cup on the counter. Clearly he had given up on that lunch date idea.

 

The door slammed once again and a man strode in, wearing a Killers t-shirt that was a very close fit and ripped jeans. It was Mr Way, and it took Brendon all of his energy not to burst out laughing. He had never seen his boss wearing anything else but blazers and shirts, so this combination was more than bizarre. Once the initial shock faded, though, Brendon had to admit he looked pretty good. 

 

Mr Way had to be in his late twenties or early thirties, Brendon realised, having never given a thought as to his boss’ age before.

 

“Mikey!” Pete exclaimed, and Brendon frowned. Mikey? He knew that Mr Way’s first name started with a M because of his name tag —M. Way—, but he _never_ would’ve guessed it being Mikey. This was a night of revelations, or so it seemed. 

 

Mikey — _Mr Way_ , Brendon reminded himself— pretended to be surprised and embraced Pete in a one-armed hug. Ryan was still sitting awkwardly, and stood up to walk towards the counter as Pete asked Mikey how the hell he’d ended up here, to which Mikey answered vaguely. 

 

“I know this guy,” Ryan said to Brendon in a low voice. “Pete and him have been circling each other for _ever_ ,” he went on, glancing back at the pair, who were talking loudly and laughing even louder. Brendon smirked and took his cap off, leaving it on the counter. 

 

“Really?” He said, running a hand through his hair. It was probably awfully flat because of the cap. Ryan nodded, a slight smile on his lips, then glanced at the menu board over Brendon’s shoulder. 

 

“Do you have Sex on the Beach here?” He inquired, and the hint of mischief in his eyes made it clear to Brendon that Ryan knew very well they didn’t have any alcoholic drinks. 

 

“I’m sorry, we don’t serve anything with alcohol,” Brendon said, and Ryan’s smile faltered a bit. “And I think LA has better beaches to offer,” he went on with a smirk, and before Ryan could say anything, they heard Pete yell at them. 

 

“Ry, I’ll be outside!” 

 

Not waiting for his friend’s answer, him and Mikey pushed the shop door open and stepped outside, leaving Ryan leaning against the counter and Brendon asking himself why the hell he’d said what he’d just said. There was no more laughter to be heard from the two others, and Ryan rolled his eyes with a knowing smile. 

 

“Let’s just hope they won’t have sex in the bushes, because that’s damn unsanitary,” he said half-jokingly, looking out the window, and Brendon let out a half suppressed laugh that made Ryan turn his gaze back to him. A few brown curls had fallen into his eyes, and he walked back to his table, glancing at the clock while picking up his jacket. He was wearing a faded grey t-shirt that was slightly too wide for him and black skinny jeans. Brendon caught himself wondering how he could be friends with the likes of Pete. But then again, _Mr Way_ was apparently more-than-friends with the likes of Pete. 

 

“It’s closing time, isn’t it?” Ryan said as Brendon realised that it was, indeed, time to finally leave this orange-and-green horror of a smoothie shop. No matter how much he had bonded with Mr Way tonight, there was no way he’d ever appreciate these colours put together. It made him feel slightly nauseous every time he caught sight of them. 

 

“Yeah,” Brendon said, picking up his cap. Ryan frowned at it, and Brendon nodded in a yeah-I-know way, stuffing it in his pocket.  

 

After closing up the shop —Ryan almost begged him to let him stay because “I don’t want to stumble upon those two”—, they walked to the parking lot, which was deserted apart from one car. 

 

“Ah, shit,” Ryan mumbled, taking his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it. “Pete must’ve left with my car, that fucker.” He ran a hand in his hair nervously, tapping on his phone screen, probably searching for Pete’s number.

 

“I can drive you back if you want,” Brendon suggested, walking towards the car parked on the side of the lot. Ryan shook his head and smiled apologetically, bringing the phone to his ear. 

 

“No thanks, I’ll figure it out,” he said, turning away from Brendon, and started pacing as he waited for Pete to pick up. 

 

Brendon leaned against his car. If Pete and Mikey had driven away together, there was very little chance that either of them would answer the phone right then. 

 

And he was right. 

 

Ryan came back a few minutes later, phone in hand and a defeated look on his face. 

 

“Voicemail,” he shrugged, and Brendon opened the car door and got in the driver’s seat. 

  

 

“C’mon, I’ll drive you back,” he said, and Ryan smiled at him before circling the car and opening the other door. He got in the passenger seat and slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

“No problem,” Brendon smiled back, put the key in the ignition and started up the car. Ryan looked over at him, and looked like he wanted to say something more, but decided against it in the last moment. 

 

They drove in silence for ten minutes, and Brendon looked across to the passenger seat. 

 

“Uh— Ryan?” It was the first time he’d called him by his name; he had to call everyone “sir” and “miss” while on duty. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I have no idea where the hell I’m going,” he confessed. “You didn’t give me an address.” 

 

Ryan laughed and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. 

 

“Well, in this case, maybe we should go get a drink,” he said and pointed to an illuminated sign on the side of the street. Brendon nodded and chuckled, turning the steering wheel to park the car.  

 

“Sex on the beach it is.”


End file.
